


Of Lockdowns, Revelations, and Devil's Food Cake

by sometimeseffable



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale can bake!, Bon Appetit Magazine, Cake, Fluff, Good Omens Lockdown, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Miscommunication, we can't break quarantine...unless...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/pseuds/sometimeseffable
Summary: After calling to check in on Crowley during the lockdown, Aziraphale absolutely does not regret turning down the opportunity to, er, 'hunker down' together. Right?An extension of the Good Omens Lockdown mini special.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Of Lockdowns, Revelations, and Devil's Food Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 30th Anniversary!!!

The dial tone droned on ominously. Aziraphale bit his lip, letting the sound linger for another moment more, before hanging up the receiver. 

Well. That hadn’t gone... _ quite  _ the way he had expected it to. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely sure  _ what  _ he had expected. Just - not that. 

Crowley had sounded perfectly happy to hear from him, though the demon was undoubtedly suffering from the lockdown. A quiet London presented rather a lack of opportunities for demonic wiles. Aziraphale had known the teasing that would come of his scuffle with the young lads and the cake, but it had been gentle and ribbing as always. The angel found himself parsing over the words in his head, desperate to confirm that his friend  _ had  _ been pleased to hear from him.

“Chin up, old boy,” Aziraphale muttered to himself. He wandered out of the shop proper and up the grand spiral staircase to the little flat above. The bedroom and water closet moldered in dust and piles of books, but a warm gold light flooded the hall from the tiny kitchen opposite. 

It looked, to anyone else who might happen upon it, like an utter war-zone. Flour coated every surface like the dust covering the ancient horsehair bed in the next room. Eggshells littered the small sink, another cartoon with its lid askew sat on top of the toaster oven. Anything else that could possibly be used in baking - butter, sugar, milk, chocolate, various liquors, plastic cartons of fruit - lay in complete disarray around the cramped island space. 

The oven was not on, and in fact had not worked properly in nearly three decades, but a perfect Battenburg sat proudly in the oven window, producing a smell that Aziraphale was sure would make even a demon’s mouth water. This was the root of the angel’s mind boggling baking skills: Aziraphale would follow the directions of the cookbook (more or less), pop the bowl in the oven, and expect the product to look exactly like that on the glossy pages. 

Besides the supernatural aspect of the perfect cake, everything Aziraphale produced was so chock-full of love that no bake dared to disappoint him.

_ I could...hunker down at your place? _

Aziraphale frowned as he tied the flour-dusted apron across his waist. No, that would have been  _ quite  _ impossible. They were in a bloody global lockdown, for Heaven’s - er, Someone’s sake! Surely Crowley did not expect him to break protocol? Parliament had set certain expectations for the safety of their citizens, and Aziraphale - though he was no fan of that Boris man, he’d like a word or two with him - was not about to be the one to wreak havoc across the city. 

Three eggs - shells and all - were mashed into the sugar. No, sir. They had a  _ duty  _ to protect their human neighbors. Wasn’t that the point of stopping Armageddon? The point of  _ their Side _ ? Aziraphale grabbed blindly for a fork. 

Come to think of it, though, the world had been feeling like it was on the brink of a second apocalypse since the new year. Sometimes Aziraphale worried that was the punishment for stopping another Great War. He fervently hoped that was not the case, and they hadn’t blundered into making life worse for the poor humans. 

Salt and bicarbonate whisked into the flour, rather more roughly than necessary. No, there was absolutely no question about it. They both needed to respect the boundaries enforced by the humans. 

Even so...the idea of not seeing Crowley for so long tied a knot in his stomach. July was only a matter of months away - mere seconds on the clock for an immortal being - but it would be the longest amount of time spent apart since August. There had been lunches and picnics and walks in the park, and those dreadful action movies Crowley had dragged him to, and nights at the symphony and oh...oh, how he  _ missed  _ how close they had got before this wretched plague. 

Aziraphale cursed Pestilence under his breath, beating thick heavy cream into the bowl. 

_ Goodnight, Angel.  _

He reached for the non-alkalized cocoa powder - and froze. Aziraphale stared at the little brown box for a long, long time, eyes wide and distant, as if the Almighty Herself had slapped him upside the head with a revelation. And then he cursed himself.

“Oh, I really am thick sometimes, aren’t I?” Aziraphale lamented. With that, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and got back to word, mouth set in determination. 

* * *

Crowley had only been asleep for an hour before someone decided to interrupt him. 

He groaned, blinking blearily up at the state-of-the-art alarm clock (the sort that you shot a dart from a toy pistol at to snooze; he’d seen it in a magazine) and cursed when he realized it wasn’t even June. He stuffed his head back under his down pillow; the knocking at the front door continued. In fact, the longer he ignored it, the more insistent it became. Leave it to some twit in his flat building to ignore all social distancing rules and bother him. 

Finally, after another five minutes of endless pounding at the door, Crowley heaved himself up and stalked into the foyer. The cold marble floors sent shivers up his spine. He cursed again, this time at himself, for not putting on slippers to yell at the intruder. 

“ _ What the Hell do you -  _ oh, it’s you.”

Aziraphale might have said something along the lines of, “ _ It’s me _ ”. Honestly, Crowley couldn’t tell - the angel had a tartan scarf wrapped so tightly around his mouth, everything came out muffled. Only his blue eyes and fluffy white curls were spared. If Crowley wasn’t intimately familiar with the combination khaki slacks and worn velvet waistcoat, he might not have recognized his friend. 

Crowley coughed and gestured at the scarf. “What’s with the…”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes snottily (typical) and started to explain himself with, “ _ Mmf,  _ mmm mff mrr mff mm - “ until Crowly cut him off.

“If I let you in will you take that ridiculous thing off?”

“Mm-hm!”

The demon stepped aside with a sigh. “Alright then. Shoes off, this is a respectable household.” He became suddenly self-conscious of his wearing a black silk pajama set while Aziraphale was fully dressed. 

Aziraphale trotted inside and gingerly toed off his oxfords -  _ tartan socks, you really are ridiculous, angel  _ \- before miracling the makeshift balaclava off. It appeared folded in a neat square on the couch.

“What I was  _ trying  _ to say,” said Aziraphale, “Was that I couldn’t possibly run the risk of catching anything while I was out, so I found this scarf - do you remember that assignment in Baghdad? Lovely silk work, although I improved on the pattern a smidge - to use as a - a - a sort of mask. You know, the ones all the humans are supposed to be wearing? Of course, I know we can’t take ill with the virus, but what if I were to spread it to humans along the way? Dreadful business, I could never forgive myself, unless of course - “

“Is that a cake?” Crowley interrupted. So distracted was he by the sight of a bundled Aziraphale that he hadn’t noticed the large platter in the angel’s hands until now. The cake that sat upon the platter looked like it had come straight from a Bon Appétit magazine, iced and glossy and  _ definitely  _ chocolate. Curls of white and dark chocolate piled high on top. Crowley wasn’t much one for food, but his mouth watered just the slightest bit at the sight.

Aziraphale brightened. “Indeed! I thought - well - I started to make this - and I know you said you were napping, and I said it would be out of the question to, er, ‘meet up’, as it were. However. I thought - well, I thought…”

He trailed off, cheeks going the most delightful shade of pink. Crowley, demon that he was and never one to pass up an opportunity to tease that pink into a full-blown red, leaned against the wall with a grin. “Thought you’d interrupt my much-needed nap for a spot of pudding, did you?”

“You don’t  _ need  _ to sleep, anymore than I need to eat!” Aziraphale squawked, indeed flushing further, “And I...I wanted...oh, you beast, you’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Now the grin slid a touch. “Say what?”

Aziraphale ducked his head. “That I’m...well.  _ Lonely.  _ In this, uh. The lockdown. That I missed having your, er. Company.”

Crowley’s hands slid out of the pockets that hadn’t been there when he’d bought the pajama pants. His mouth worked open and shut, silently stumbling over syllables, trying to find the words that were lodged in his throat.

“So. Um. What sort of cake is it?” 

He winced.  _ Smooth, Anthony. Very smooth.  _

One tartan foot started to tap nervously, which the angel seemed greatly fixated on observing. He muttered something unintelligible. 

“Come again?”

“Devil’s Food,” said Aziraphale louder, peeking up at him, “If you  _ must  _ know.”

Crowley stared at him, mind gone entirely blank. He blinked. Then he smiled - not the fang-toothed grin of teasing his angel, but a genuine, pleased smile. He gently took the cake from Aziraphale’s hands and set it in its proper place on the coffee table. And then, bracing every instinct screaming at him that such a move would ruin everything, he wrapped his arms around the angel in a hug. 

“For the record,” he said, calm as can be, as if the very action weren’t shattering every unspoken boundary in the book, “I sort of missed your company too. Don’t go spreading that around, though.”

Heart pounding, Crowley thought perhaps that was the mistake of the century ( _ I’ve gone too fast, oh fuck oh fuck, he’s really going to leave now - )  _ until Aziraphale (very hesitantly) hugged him back. 

Then he eked out, “Erm, dear boy...two metres’s distance, remember?”

“Shut up,” Crowley murmured, “We can’t get sick, you dolt.”

“But we  _ can  _ spread the virus to others - “

“Then it looks like you’re stuck here in quarantine for two weeks.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sounded as if he wanted to argue, then thought before of it. He squeezed Crowley’s narrow waist in return. “Alright, then.”

They stood there for Someone knew how long, neither sure how to break the hold, and neither really wanting to, either. At least, until Aziraphale started shifting in place. Crowley sighed. 

"You want to eat the cake now, don't you?"

Aziraphale pushed him away to arms-length and sniffed delicately. "Well, now that you mention it..."

"You're a menace," Crowley declared, pulling away entirely, "I'll get some plates."

They ate their cake in comfortable silence, resolutely Not Talking about the h*g that had just transpired. It was awkward, and embarrassing, and there was probably a Conversation to be had in the coming days of solitude together. Probably an argument or two about Crowley’s atrocious lack of reading material, and Aziraphale’s refusal to take a damn nap once in a while. But secretly, the two of them were abundantly grateful for the lockdown for forcing their hands. And for the Bon Appetit magazine from which the Devil’s Food cake had appeared. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very grateful to Neil, Michael, and David for giving us a little something for the anniversary. Really. Am I the slightest bit annoyed the boys aren't in lockdown together? You betcha.  
> Devil's Food cake recipe here: https://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/triple-layer-devil-s-food-cake


End file.
